


Fool

by Lakela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, SPOILERS for If You Are Prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakela/pseuds/Lakela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short speculation to what might have happened after the classic Snarry story, "If you are prepared" by Cybele. Snape's POV.</p><p>If you haven't read it, this ficlet will probably still make sense, but you'll be missing out on a fabulous story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [If You Are Prepared](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/4234) by Cybele. 



> This was my little attempt at a slightly "fluffier" ending ("slightly" being the operative word, I suppose). What happens when...
> 
> Beta-read by ubiquitousmixie, who is amazing.

 

The occasions I’ve been certain my time was finally up are more than I could possibly count. The moment one becomes a Death Eater, they understand how little value their life has, how easily it could be snatched away on a sudden whim. Isn’t that why one agrees to take the mark? Being Dumbledore’s puppet – spy - only multiplied that possibility by a thousand-fold. But none of this robbed me of my otherwise few precious hours of sleep.

I abhor melodrama; what was the point fretting about it? I would die when my time came. I was ready, I was prepared. 

Of course Dumbledore couldn’t possibly have let me take the easy way out and had to throw Potter my way. James’ son.

 _Harry_.

Damn him. Damn Albus, the sentimental fool.

And damn that wretched, insufferable, foolhardy boy. Damn him for making me live and then leaving me alone to deal with life.

_Harry._

How I _longed_ for release then. How does one go on living without air? I wasn’t breathing. I _couldn’t_ breathe. But I didn’t die. Not as a Death Eater, not as a spy. Not then, either. The boy, the fool,

 _Harry_ ,

needed me to live. It made his life seem a little less pointless. His loving me. My loving him.

I loved him.

_The greatest thing I've ever done was love you._

Fool.

He had to leave his bloody journal to me. My one moment of weakness, a gift, he returned full of sentimental gibberish and adolescent angst. Full of questions he hadn’t dared ask me and that I sure as hell wouldn’t have answered. Then why did I regret not having told him all of it? Why did I feel the urge to answer all of his damn questions now that I couldn’t? Why did I blame _him_ for not having asked them when there was still time?

_Do you love me?_

I didn’t die. I lived. And I remembered. That’s what I was there for. I remembered every bloody day for the rest of my life.

Life didn’t change. Life, it seemed, was determined to go on. Only a tad more so. More life. More pain. Surely death was around the corner?

When Minerva died – the lucky bitch – I found myself appointed Headmaster. And _that_ was unexpected. There were hardly any lingering Dark Lords to keep at bay, so what business did I have being Headmaster? All I wanted was a little peace in the comfortable coldness of my perfectly lonely dungeons. Not to mention the small detail that I absolutely despised the little buggers (or the older buggers for that matter, who didn’t even have the age excuse for parading their idiocies around). But there I was, my office suddenly flooded with teachers and students whose problems I rarely knew (or cared) how to solve. That is, until I resolved to giving them all lemon sherbets and tea. At least it kept them from speaking for a while. And I could hear Harry’s laugh echoing through the walls.

_You know you love it._

I most certainly do not.

_The sherbets are a nice touch. Have you considered growing a beard?_

Shut up, brat.

 _Admit it. You’ve always wanted your portrait hanging in these walls. Now it will be! Think about it, with your sexy big nose and your greasy black hair._     

Ten points from Gryffindor, you insolent child.

_Your greasy, wonderful, soft, long, black hair. I love you, Severus. You know that, don’t you?_

_I love you._

Shut up.

 

Shut up.

 

So when it finally came, it wasn’t at the receiving end of the Killing Curse. It wasn’t from grief or even from lack of air. There weren’t explosions of green or a terrible pain in my arm, or anywhere else for that matter. I just went to bed one night, Harry’s voice to keep me company, as it always had been, took the Dreamless Sleep potion that was practically a part of me by now, and closed my eyes.

Soon after, my heart stopped beating.

 

A couple of days later, my portrait was in the wall.

They had to move it the next day because it kept insulting the neighbour portraits for their inane remarks, snoring too loud or generally crowding its sight. They found an empty wall for it, in a corner of the office. Once there, the portrait sneered, gulped down a painted phial of the familiar potion and went to sleep. It didn’t strike me until then how old I really had been when I died. The hair that had remained black all those years did nothing to hide the fact.

 

I never knew if there was a tree with my name. I imagine there must have been, though perhaps it was more of a bush. A sneering little black bush. Can magic bushes sneer? I hope so.

 

And now I wait.

I wait for him. Because I’ve been waiting for him for a lifetime. I _lived_ for him, it made his (short) life seem a little less pointless. It made _my_ (too long) life seem a little less pointless.

I can already almost smell his scent. I can already almost hear his voice. Hear him say, from behind me…

“I love you, Severus. You know that, don’t you? I love you.”

“Fool.”

And when his arms lace around me, his breath hot against my neck, his lips caressing my skin until they come to reach my own, I will murmur into his mouth,

“I love you, Harry.”

And, for once, know we’re free to believe it.


End file.
